Beauty and the Beast
by aliasgurl03
Summary: SS For who could ever learn to love a beast?
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with alias, or I wouldn't be sitting here in a small house writing this!!!  
  
Feedback: Please, pretty please this is my first fanfic ever so the confidence boost would be appreciated greatly!!!!  
  
Summary: beauty and the beast centered around Sark and syd  
  
I started this in December, more chapters coming soon  
  
~ Once upon a time in a far away land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish and unkind. But then, one winters night, an old beggar woman came to the castle, and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away, but she warned him not to be deceived by appearance for beauty is found within, and when he dismissed her again the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize but it was too late for she had seen there was no love in his heart and as punishment she transformed him into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had a offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his 21st year. If he could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell then the spell would be broken. If not he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time, as the years passed he fell in to despair and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast? ~ (belongs to disneys beauty and the beast)  
  
1. Living hell  
  
Half preoccupied by the book she just finished, Sydney idly waked into the conference room. Out of nowhere, she was shoved into the door frame. She spun around and slammed into a beaming Sark. Staring at her, he neither moved or spoke, he just stood there, half smiling. The office lighting added an odd glow to his blue eyes. Having never actually allowed herself to just look at Sark, she realized for the first time how gorgeous he really was. And obnoxious, arrogant, and a cold blooded killer, she added.  
  
"Ms.Bristow, what a most pleasant surprise." Sark said, breaking the silence between them.  
  
"Oh wonderful," she said, her expression a mix of annoyance and a suppressed smile. She kicked herself for letting him have such an affect on her.  
  
"Which is odd," he continued ignoring her remark, "since you are so hard to miss."  
  
"Save it Sark, let me through."  
  
"Indeed," he said has he let her through, "oh and Ms.Bristow?"  
  
Spinning around, "what?"  
  
He reached up and gently grabbed her arm where her shirt ripped on the door frame.  
  
"I'd fix that if I were you, before we leave on OUR mission." Our? she glared at him. Continuing he added, "It really is lovely on you." With that, he let her pass with out a second glance and left the room.  
  
Studying her mission specs, she looked at her ripped shirt, her arm still on fire from where he had grabbed it. Silently, she debated burning it or buying another one. Why did he always do this to her? She hated him, the US hated him, and most of all, Will hated him. Sark was everything she fought against each day. And yet every time she saw him, he left her with questions. So many questions she couldn't get the answers to. Maybe the mission would let her find out more. The rustling of clothes brought her out of her thoughts. Sark was settling in next to her and reading the mission specs.  
  
"God, don't you ever go away?" Sark looked up, "you're like a lost puppy!"  
  
"Really, I'm hurt." Sark retorted, "ill have to go to therapy for weeks. Bratty co-workers get to me every time."  
  
"Go to hell," she yelled.  
  
"Isn't this it?" he glared back and with that, he got up and stood against the wall in the back trying to read the specs before Sloane got there.  
  
What? Now he was going to be a martyr. She couldn't stand him. He always brought out the exact opposite of what she was trying to be. If she wanted to ignore him, he'd make her yell. If she wanted to put him in his place, she'd be speechless, cool and collected, she'd look like a slob. And the worst part was, he knew it.  
  
"Christopher Doble," Sloane began, flashing a picture of an arrogant young man on their screens, "is a wealthy arms dealer and a novice Rambaldi collector. Although his past attempts at obtaining any artifacts have failed, he had a streak of luck and obtained an extremely important artifact. Mr.Doble is currently vacationing in Maine on a ski trip. Tomorrow night at 9 PM at the lodge he will be selling the artifact to an unknown third party. Sark, Sydney your mission is to go skiing with Mr.Doble and became friends, invite him to dine with you at 8:30 and then switch briefcases with him so that he will have a fake artifact to sell. Jack, you will go along as well, incase they need back-up."  
  
Back up? Syd questioned to herself. Why would they need backup. He was talking about the two best spies who didn't need back up when they fought each other. They would be unstoppable together and she thought it was obvious.  
  
As soon as the meeting ended she pulled Jack aside.  
  
"Dad why is Sloane sending you?"  
  
"He doesn't trust Sark to make the switch for SD-6. He doesn't know what the artifact can do and thinks Sark does."  
  
"Does he?"  
  
"The CIA doesn't think so, we're all in the dark on this one. Hopefully the CIA can figure it out first. I'll see you on the plane," and he left.  
  
Sydney stood there. she couldn't believe her luck. Sark was right. It was going to be a living hell. Her dad was still mad at her and Sark, well it was just Sark. Plus, on top of it all, she had never been to Maine or skied in her life. 


	2. Soggy Cereal and Joey's pizza

2. soggy cereal and joeys pizza  
  
"Damn it," Sydney yelled, trying to mop the spreading coffee stain on her new blouse. The heat from the coffee on her palm reminded her with a painful zing of the burn from the iron she got minutes ago. She threw the rest of what Sark told her she would need into her suitcase. She frowned at how Sark had gained control over the mission and prayed Sloane was over reacting about Sark. She wasn't in the mood for a crazy mission. Finally packed, she sat down attempting to eat her now soggy bowl of cereal. Of course the phone rang.  
  
"Hello?" she asked, now agitated and hungry.  
  
"Joey's pizza?" the familiar voice asked.  
  
"Wrong number," she sighed and grabbed her coat.  
  
He sat there listening for her footsteps. He'd gotten pretty good at telling her mood. Today they were short and hard. She was mad and in a hurry. He swallowed and stood up.  
  
"Hey Syd," Vaughn smiled, judging her reaction hoping he hadn't picked a bad day to ask.  
  
"Hey," she replied, "how was your weekend? How's Alice?" It had slipped, but now she was glad she had brought it up.  
  
"It was good. Umm..Alice is fine." Why did she have to bring Alice up?  
  
"Well, I'm glad you finally found someone. You guys seemed really close at the bar."  
  
"Yeah I guess we did."  
  
"Well I'm glad." she enjoyed his discomfort, he more than deserved it. Not once did he ever mention Alice. Not once. She never kept anything that important from him. She had trusted him.  
  
"So why did you call me? I thought my dad was going to make the switch before Sark was supposed to so that sd-6 and Doble would both get fakes."  
  
"Yeah that's still the plan. Kendall wanted me to make sure you knew to watch Sark." He didn't think she'd buy it.  
  
"And? you called me down for that?"  
  
"Syd, actually I was wondering well. Alice and I have friends with season tickets to the Kings and we have two extra tickets so I was thinking maybe Will and you could go. We'd even see each other there."  
  
He had to be kidding. He actually had the audacity to "invite" her on a double date with him and Alice.  
  
"Vaughn, is this a joke?"  
  
"Syd, no!" He couldn't understand her.  
  
"If the CIA saw us there it would end both are careers or worse if sd-6 saw us there it would jeopardize our lives, over a stupid hockey game." She looked at his face. It truly was hurt. "Vaughn, any other time I would have loved to go with you to see a hockey game, but you know we cant go. Let alone your girlfriend and my best friend, too."  
  
"Yeah, your right, I'm sorry."  
  
"Bye Vaughn." and she yelled flying out the door.  
  
"Syd..?" he asked, no answer.  
  
"Have a good trip," he sighed and walked away. 


	3. chapter 3

The ski resort rushed around them as Sydney and Jack entered, with Sark close behind, to check in. Sark's hair was now a dark brown to match Sydney's and she reluctantly acknowledged it didn't look half bad. Her dad had now a thick mustache and beard, and had a flannel shirt and baggy jeans on as well. She laughed at how out of character he appeared. She waited comfortably in a sweater and jeans. It was a nice break from the outfits Sloane usually had for her.  
  
"James Clark?" Jack asked, arriving at the desk.  
  
"Good morning Mr. Clark." she said looking up the reservations, "and you are Sarah and Patrick, correct?"  
  
"Yes," they both answered, Sydney rolled her eyes, as she handed her id to the girl.  
  
"Oh your twins," she said, reading their ID's, "that's so cool. Whose older?"  
  
"I am," Sark quickly answered giving Syd a one armed hug, "3 minutes makes all the difference."  
  
"Oh I wish I had a twin, anyways, your rooms are 210 and 211. Enjoy, it snowed last night so you should have an awesome time."  
  
"I'm sure," jack said, taking the keys and walking down the hall with their luggage in tow. "I'll take the first room, Sloane wants you to together so it will run more smoothly," he said giving Syd an apologetic look.  
  
"More smoothly," she thought," that's like missing oil and water and saying it will work.  
  
Before she could protest Sark grabbed their luggage and entered their room. It was larger than she expected and had a small kitchen and living room along with the bedroom. Opening the bedroom door, her heart sank as she saw the one bed. Dropping her coat on the bed, she wondered just what Sloane was thinking. She turned to Sark.  
  
"One of us will have to..." she said, hoping he'd catch her drift.   
  
"Absolutely, I'll sleep on the bed and you can have the floor. You'll thank me in the long run, I've heard the floor does wonders for your back. Now if you'll excuse me," and with that he shut the door and left her standing there, speechless, with a pillow and a blanket in her arms.   
  
"My coats still in there, I want it back!" she yelled stomping off to the living room to unpack.  
  
"Sark, were going down to meet Doble, now! Lets go," she yelled still fuming about having to sleep on the floor. We'll just see what he has to say when he wants to use the shower. Fat chance!  
Standing in the lobby, waiting for Doble, Sydney could feel Sark starring at her. He had been for the last 10 minutes. She tried to ignore it by studying the plush red carpet and glowing fireplace. She tried to see if she could hear what the couple next to them was talking about. Giving up, she turned to Sark.  
  
"What" she asked.  
  
"Nothing, I'm just surprised that he's late." Sark replied, ending the short exchange of words for the first time in 20 minutes.  
  
The silence and her nerves driving her nuts she tried small talk again. "You like to ski?"  
  
"Huh? Oh not much really, how 'bout you?"  
  
Taking a chance, she replied, "Oh I don't suppose it can be that hard."  
  
"What do you mean you don't suppose?"  
  
"Well I haven't actually skied before."  
  
"Are you serious?"  
  
"Yeah, I cant imagine why, it couldn't be that I have the most dysfunctional family in the world. Seriously, do us Bristows look like a ski vacation kinda family to you, Sark?"  
  
"No I guess not, you better learn fast."  
  
"I mean even your family cant be that bad compared to mine," she rambled on, glad that they were actually speaking, she couldn't handle silence. Looking at Sark's face though shut her up fast.  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure, Ms.Bristow," he responded glaring and turning the other way. Sydney just stood there. Well there went that short lived conversation. She resorted back to people watching.  
  
"Sark, there's Doble," she whispered, breaking the silence between them.  
  
Sark strolled up to Doble as if they were best friends. "Chris, its been awhile!"  
  
"Excuse me, do I know you?" he asked suspiciously, but Sark continued convincingly.  
  
"Patrick Clark! you don't remember me? Why I hardly think anyone could forget are group from high school. Remember McGoverns's grad party...." and on and on he continued until he had Doble convinced Sark was his long lost friend.  
  
"Well are we going to hit the slopes or what?" she asked anxious to get the whole skiing fiasco over with.   
  
"Yes lets," Sark replied.  
  
"Coming Chris? I could use the change in company."  
  
"I'd love to but if you don't, mind I am starving and need to have lunch."  
  
"Not at all," she smiled, " well meet back here later, sound good,"   
  
"Certainly." and left to go the mess hall.  
  
"Sark?" she asked spinning around. She looked around the room but he was no where to be found.  
  
Walking as fast as she called with out drawing attention to herself, Sydney went towards Doble's room. She got up with Sark quickly. Breaking into a run, she pinned a surprised against the wall.   
  
"Sark, what are you doing? We're supposed to wait till tonight," she stalled, knowing he dad was in the room making the switch now. She tried to be as loud as possible with out drawing attention  
  
"Ms.Bristow this is none of your business. This is my call and I'm going now." Anger replacing the surprise in his eyes. "Now if you'd be so kind to take your hands off me and let me go."  
  
"I'm coming too then." She stood there, waiting for his reply knowing that if he said no then if was all over.  
  
"No, your not. you want to help? Then stay here and guard the door. I don't need any assistance," and he started to walk towards the door. Jumping forward she pinned him against the door. "Who the hell are you working for?"   
  
"Why Sydney, I believe my loyalty to SD-6 are just as clear as yours, wouldn't you agree? Now if you'll excuse me I have an artifact to get for the good of the United States, and I don't plan on coming back empty handed.  
  
"Like hell you don't," she muttered, banging the wall in frustration. He didn't know what to do. She couldn't go in, it would expose both her and her dad. Maybe her dad had already gotten out. She decided to wait at the door. Sark would have to come out sooner or later.  
  
Sark opened the door slowly. He wondered what Sydney was so anxious about. Gun draw, he walked in. No one was there. He went to the suitcase and cracked it open. The artifact was sitting there, almost hurriedly placed. Still suspicious he picked it up and replaced it with the SD-6 fake. He reached into his sweatshirt pocket and took out a small vile of clear liquid. He blotted it onto a small cloth and rubbed It on the mirrored surface of the artifact. Nothing happened, cursing he tried again. Leaping up he searched the room , the closets and the bathroom. No one was in the apartment. Then he noticed the window. Tapping it is swung open slightly to a small porch. It hadn't been shut, just closed by the wind Someone else had beat him to the artifact. Grabbing the fake for Sloane, he silently debated what to do. Sydney knew something and that was certainly to his advantage. But how could he confront her, she didn't have the artifact, she'd been with him all day. The only other person who could have gotten to it was Jack. Still, he would have to play his cards right to get what he wanted and the artifact. He sighed wondering how he'd gotten everything so perfectly set up, had to stand the monkey Sloane for months, and then let Jack slip through his fingers.  
  
Sydney stood there irritable waiting, playing out all the things that could have happened over and over in her head. It had been relatively quiet, she reminder herself, maybe her dad had heard her.  
  
"Lets go," Sark yelled, fuming but trying to no avail to hide it.   
Standing in the shower, she battled the notorious ever changing water temperature and trying to find a signal on her cell in the shower. Finally she got it.  
  
"Dad?"  
  
"Sydney."  
  
"Where are you? Did you get the artifact?"  
  
"At the safe house then to the CIA. I heard you out in the hall. I figured Sark would figure it was me so I left, can you cover for me?"  
  
"I'll try."  
  
"Bye see you at home." 


	4. Withing with Rambaldi

chapter 4  
  
Irena Derevcho sat in the CIA cell, thinking, planning, and expecting. She had done her part. She had played a part for Rambaldi that no one else knew of. Yes, she smiled, and she had done it well. It was all up to Sark now, and fate. She never used to believe in fate, that a person served a purpose in a bigger scheme, that everything they did was left to chance and fate in the end. But she had learned about fate fast. Sometimes, it was all a person had.  
  
While Irena stared at the wall, she remembered. She remembered the Sark she first had met. He was young, just a teenager, full of passion and the love of the hunt and victory. He wanted to save the world. Sark was also the most brilliant person she had met. She thought him everything she knew and he soaked it up like a sponge.   
  
As it always happens, he fell into the wrong hands. He made new friends and got new teachers, forgetting the old. He learned truly how evil the world was, and full of greed. She watched helplessly as he became it all. He was rich, powerful, classy, and evil. Just as Sydney had found her niche in the CIA, Sark had found his. It was one thing to be against the good guys, it didn't make you bad, but Sark had become the bad guy the good guys were against.   
  
Then it all changed, she found the Rambaldi prophesy, page 47. Telling no one, she made a fake, adding or deleting phrases so that it was about her, and returned it to the cave. Some people would say that she did it for herself, but she didn't. She knew Sydney would figure out she was still alive from teh fake prophesy, and that was all she wanted. It was what she fell asleep dreaming about every night. The real page bore a picture of Sark, and read, "The man depicted will bring forth my greatest works, gaining the power to render the greatest power of either good or evil to utter desolation The choice is his, but not his alone. A woman possessing unseen marks, can quell his fire through love. Together, they shall bring down the greatest evil. If, by his 30th birthday, this man cannot learn to love, then the greatest power of good and all it stands for is doomed."  
  
The more artifacts she found gave her small clues. She realized what she had to do. She came up with the plan to force him into hiding on his 29th birthday. Tomorrow would be the beginning of the end. She frowned, realizing she had no more control over what would happen now. She could force Sark into hiding, but that was all. She couldn't protect the world from him, and what he would bring.  
  
No more than rambaldi could do anything about what he knew but to hide it. Waiting, always waiting, she went to sleep.  
  
well what do you think, you read now please review!! 


	5. heads and tails

Sark and Dixon were the only ones sitting at their desks as Jack walked out of Sloane's office. Sydney had taken the day off. Nodding good-bye to Dixon, Jack left the office. It was late. Shuffling papers, Sark watched Jack leave. Saying goodbye to no one, missed by no one, Sark grabbed his jacket and left. It would be simple, he assured himself, heading to his car. He was better than Jack. He didn't have a family. He wasn't attached to anything. He wasn't weak. Turning up the radio, Sark started to relax and left the building.   
  
Leaning down to answer his cell phone. Jack instinctively sped up towards the CIA office.   
  
"Hello?" Jack answered.  
  
"Where are you? I talked to you and hour and a half ago and you said you would be right there," Kendall shouted.   
  
"Sloane needed my help on a project. This was the soonest I could leave. I'll be there in 10 minutes."  
  
"Just get here, Jack. I'm sick of waiting." Kendall complained, hanging up.  
  
The late afternoon sun blared into Jack's eyes. He pulled down the visor mirror in an attempt to block the light. Glancing in the mirror, his heart jumped seeing the same black car he noticed earlier was still five cars behind him. He turned right and the black car followed. He reached for his gun. He banked a hard right and entered a narrow abandoned alley. Barely missing the boxes and piles of trash piled against the brick walls, he returned to a side street still leading to the CIA. He was the only car on the road. He loosened his grip on the steering wheel and continued on his way.   
  
Drumming the steering wheel, Sark softly sang along to his favorite song but barely just incase anyone saw. It would ruin his reputation. Jack was no longer in front of him. He laughed at how long it took Jack to notice him following him. That explained why Sydney and Dixon all ways went on all of SD-6's missions. Jack would fail everyone of them. Turning into the CIA parking garage, an old man slowly walked up to him.  
  
"May I see you ID, sir?" the man asked kindly.   
  
Reaching under his jacket, Sark drew his gun and fired one shot. Driving around the crumpled body of the man , he caught sight of Jack leaving his car. Grabbing the gun from his seat, he got out and approached Jack.. Hearing the gun click, Jack froze.   
  
"Mr.Bristow," the familiar-British voice greeted, "A person can only be successful at losing a tail if they were in fact actually being followed. Unfortunately for you, I was meeting you. Now I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to."  
  
"And what would that be, Sark?" Jack responded, his hand frozen inches from his gun, a wasted attempt.  
  
"Just get in the car. I don't suppose your Kendall would want blood all over his precious facility."  
  
"Is that a threat?"  
  
"No it was a compliment," he muttered sarcastically. Without a second thought, Sark slammed his gun against the back of Jack's head. Slumping to the ground, Sark dragged his body into the car and drove away.  
  
Jack woke to a throbbing pain in his neck and a dull numbness in he legs. Opening his eyes, he looked around. The room was dark and apparently he was alone. It was eerily silent in and around the room. He was strapped to a table but his legs were strapped higher up causing the blood flow to his legs to be significantly less. That explained the numbness, he frowned. The pain in his head was a dull painful throbbing. His vision blurred. He struggled to stay alert.  
  
"Mr.Bristow," Sark entered, slamming the door. Jack's head throbbed even worse. "I know you have the mirror so this is quite pointless really, just a simple phone call can clear this all up. I'm sure you'd like to leave no worse off then you arrived and all I want is the mirror which serves no purpose to you, so if you would kindly just call those in possession of it and have it dropped off, this could all be cleared up." Jack made no move to respond. Raising his voice, he continue, "Jack, I'm not a big fan of the whole torture thing. It's a waste of time if you ask me. A gun against one's head seems to be much more effective, wouldn't you agree?"   
  
"Why should I help you?" Jack whispered.  
  
"Help me? It's not me you need to help. I'm sure Sloane will be thrilled when he finds out his little Sydney is a double agents for the CIA."  
  
"Leave her out of it, Sark. She means nothing to you."  
  
"True, but that's not the issue," he responded, holding out the cell phone, "What will it be Jack?"  
  
"Never," he glared.  
  
"Don't say I didn't offer," Sark smiled. He was enjoying this way to much. He took his gun, and fired. 


	6. chapter 6

thanks for the reviews!!!! ill try to get the chapters up faster!   
  
"Where the hell is he?" Sydney kept asking to herself. She was finally getting close to him again and then something like this happens. "It's been two hours."  
  
Kendall, Weiss and Vaughn walked over.   
  
"Hey Weiss, didn't you leave?" She asked  
  
"Yeah but my friends seemed to need some help. Any news?" Weiss responded.  
  
"No, security was shut down when he apparently disappeared. His car was found down in parking and the security guard's body was found. There's a team out now but they haven't found a good lead yet. Its been at least two hours."  
  
"We'll find him Sydney, don't worry," Vaughn said. The familiar worry lines in his brow, deepening., "Kendall any idea who has him?"  
  
"No. We thought it might have been Cuvee, but it was an ambush when he abducted Marshall, and only one person got your dad. Was Sark planning on being at SD-6 today?"  
  
"Yeah he was. I'm positive. Why do you think it was Sark?" Sydney asked. Before he could answer her, a young lady walked over with a phone.   
  
"Ms.Bristow, it's a young man asking for you. Would you like to take it?"  
  
Ignoring all three guys looks, she nodded and took the phone expecting Will. "Hello?"  
  
"Ms. Bristow, enjoying your day off?"  
  
"Sark. What do you want?" She asked, trying to ignore the panic in her stomach and she realized he had to know she was a CIA agent.  
  
"Your father has been so very unhelpful and now is of no use to me so now I need your help. The artifact your father acquired in Maine, I am assuming is available to you as well, and I need it."  
  
"Get it your self,"  
  
"I tried. But Ms.Bristow, if you value your position at SD-6 at all, it would be in your best interest to cooperate. Oh and how is your friend's teeth doing, seems its almost time for his next appointment."  
  
"You son of a bitch."  
  
"I didn't call for this, Ms. Bristow. I know your smart and that you saved your little handler. Are you going to save everything else worth saving in your life?"  
  
"Fine, what do you need me to do?"  
  
"Ms.Bristow, you are not in a position to make this decision." Kendall yelled.  
  
"And you are, its not your life at stake over a stupid mirror that no one even knows what it is. I made this mistake once. I'm not going to again."  
  
"Ms.Bristow?"  
  
"I'm listening, Sark"  
  
"There will be an escort ready to pick your up in 5 minutes outside of the CIA. Bring the mirror with you and you will get your father back,"  
  
"Alive?"  
  
"You will get your father back. It's been a pleasure."  
  
"Sark?" she asked with no reply, "Sark?" Closing the phone she looked at the shocked faces of Kendall, Vaughn and Weiss.  
  
"Sydney last I checked I still was in charge here and made any somewhat important decisions. Care to fill me in." Kendall asked.  
  
"He threatened Will and to turn me into Sloane. He knows everything even about the antidote for Vaughn. I couldn't say no. There picking me up in 5 minutes and I've already wasted 2 of them. I need the real artifact."  
  
"I cant," Kendall answered.   
  
"That's just not good enough. Give it to me or I quit." She challenged.  
  
"Sydney," he begged but her expression didn't soften, "Fine, I'll have it brought to you at the pick up point, but if anything goes wrong . . ."  
  
"I accept full responsibility." She said already walking away.   
  
alright, reviews motivate me to update faster and get me writing faster!! 


	7. and so it begins

The street glistened in the rain, the opposite of what Sydney felt. Shivering, she clutched her coat tighter around her. She leaned against the wall attempting to stay dry. Dreading what would happen after Sark's escort came. She listened intently for the car. It was already two minutes late. The screech of tires in the water caught her attention. A black car pulled up. A young man smiled nervously and opened the back door.  
  
"Ms.Bristow?" he asked. He quickly became soaked from the pouring rain.  
  
"You're late," she replied.  
  
Embarrassed he continued, "Just get in please, Sark is waiting." Moving to take the briefcase containing the artifact, she twisted away and got in the car and slammed the door. "Any other night, I would have been nice to the kid," she thought, "not tonight." Starring out the window, everything began to sink in. Everything was in jeopardy. She hadn't been to church since Irena "died" when she was six. Figuring now was as good as anytime she began to pray, to Jesus, Mary, whoever was listening. She prayed for Will, that he was safe. Then she prayed that Sark would die, a really long painful death. So much for Christian charity and compassion. Screw it. Leaning her head on the foggy window, she prayed so hard for her dad, that he was still safe. She couldn't handle him dying. It would be yet another destroyed life she was accountable for. She had the heart wrenching vision of having to tell her mom he was dead. She always made herself believe Irena came to the CIA for her, to see her daughter, but all she had to do was watch them together. It was so sad to watch her dad try to hide his love but everyone saw through it. What was harder to miss was Irena's pain when Jack left. She wondered if Kendall had told Irena what was happening, yet. She doubted it. Swallowing a sob, she starred out the window, trying to see where they were going. Leaning into her hands, cold metal scorched her flushed cheek. Realizing it was the ring from her dad on her 16th birthday caused her heart to ache even more. To what extent was every life she destroyed excusable in the name of the one life SD-6 destroyed?  
  
The car stopped in front of an old apartment building. Following the young man, she carried the briefcase up the steps. She didn't know what to expect as she walked through the front door. Instead of an apartment, it was a large room with two doors going to the left and a door in the back apparently the back door. Everything was gray and damp. The only light came from the floresant lights in random spots in the ceiling. The whole room was eerily quiet. Silently, she debated what to do. Sark walked in through the back door soaking wet.  
  
"Ms.Bristow, so glad you decided to cooperate." Sark approached her with a blanket.  
  
Shrugging her shoulders in refusal, "Sark where's my dad?" She was sick of all the games.  
  
"Back there," he responded, nodding towards the doors on the left. Putting an arm out to stop her from advancing. "The mirror, Ms.Bristow."  
  
Handing him the case, her curiosity got the best of her. "How did you find out?"  
  
"Find out what?" he asked distractedly, examining the mirror.  
  
"About the CIA."  
  
"You told me."  
  
"Me? I told you? What are you talking about?" She shouted.  
  
"The day I ran into you in the door. I put a bug on your sleeve. I had my suspicions, rightly so it appears. When you whispered to your dad about the mission, he mentioned the CIA so I talked to some people, called in some favors and found it all out." He explained with no trace of emotion in his voice. Glancing at her face, he continued, "I find it quite humorous. I made you mad, and found out your little secret, all in the same hour. You didn't think I was really flirting that day, did you?"  
  
"No. I though you were just your being your annoying little self." She lied. Shivering, she hugged her arms around her tighter. "Sark it's real. Just let me see my dad. I don't have time for this."  
  
Motioning over to the nervous young man, "Take her to him, Luke."  
  
Luke walked forward and motioned for Sydney to follow. She almost smiled, the kid was scared of her. She slowly turned the door knob. The room was dark and cold. She almost didn't seem him. Jack was crumpled in the corner. She looked to her right and saw a table with leather straps all over it. Above was a bullet hole. Running over her fathers lifeless body, she started to cry. "Dad," she sobbed, "Dad, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry." Her face crumble in pain. "I love you, I'm so sorry." Kneeling next to him, she felt his pulse. It was weak but there, A sigh escaped her tired body. Rolling him over, she almost cried out in relief, he was beat up pretty bad on his head and bruises were already showing, but he hadn't been shot. Taking her jacket, she rolled it up and put it under his head. Tears of relief fell onto his face and she wiped away the blood on his face. The loud ringing of a cell phone brought her back.  
  
Luke stood by Sark nervously as he waited for the call to end. "Bloody hell" Sark screamed in disbelief. "The bitch, I know it was her!" He picked up the chair and through it across the room. "You should be f****** proud Sydney, your mom has just destroyed everything. That woman will stop at nothing. Damnit!"  
  
Sydney just stood there. Sark looked so young and angry. She was truly scared.  
  
Sark continued, "What? Don't you want to hear what she did? She has the whole f****** world convinced I'm working for the CIA. They have tapes and recordings of conversations with CIA agents I have never even heard of. She has so much fake s*** about it. Its unbelievable. How ironic," he glared.  
  
"That's a shame Sark, really, but its just not my problem I haven't seen or heard from my mom in a year and I don't really care." For the second time today, she prayed he didn't know. She was in disbelief. She began to put everything together.  
  
Leaning on the table, he turned to Luke. "Find out if anyone will let me come with in 20 feet of them alive." Nodding, Luke walked over to the computer in the corner. It seemed so out of place.  
  
Not sure what to do she walked back over to her dad and tried to wake him up. Squeezing his hand, he began to stir.  
  
"Irena? I knew you would come save me." he wispered.  
  
Beginning to panic, she shook him, "Dad its me, sydney! Dad, Sark has the artifact."  
  
"Why, I could have handled it. You should have left her out of it," he yelled to noone in particular.  
  
"Mr.Sark, it doesn't look good," Luke answered, trying to hide his trembling hands in his pockets. "What now?"  
  
"I.," Sark stared into space then looked at Sydney and Jack. Suddenly his face changed., "I go into hiding."  
  
Sydney tried to hide her shock. Luke didn't. "Hiding?"  
  
"Yes and Ms.Bristow?"  
  
"Yes Sark?" She tried to read his expression, but she couldn't.  
  
"You are going to come with me."  
  
"No I'm not. This isn't part of the deal," She thought her heart was going to explode.  
  
Sark reached down and pulled out a gun. Throwing Jack against the wall, he jammed the gun into his side. "If you don't he dies."  
  
"And if I do?" She asked, standing up to face him.  
  
"He lives, I'll call an ambulance and make it look like he was mugged Well Sydney?"  
  
With silent tears streaming down her face, she nodded. As she ran to her dad, a large man stepped out of the shadows, startling her. He grabbed Jack and dragged him out the back door. Collapsing to the floor, Sark jabbed the gun into her side and forced her out the door to the car. She considered trying to fight but caught a glimpse of the large man standing in the shadows with a gun pointed at Jacks heart. Sobbing hysterically she got into the car.  
  
and so it begins......  
  
please review it makes my day!!!! 


	8. chapter 8

thanks for all the reviews!! Chapter 8  
  
She sat in the car for the second time that night, holding back a sob, but she could not stop the tears from dripping down her cheeks. She was so angry at herself for crying, especially in front of Sark. She could not get the image of her dad in the shadows, barely alive, from her head. She wondered if the CIA had started searching for her yet. Sark had warned that if anyone followed her or made contact with her, that Will would die. According to Sark, five of his men were surrounding Will's house, ready to kill him. No one at the time was willing to take the chance, but now that Jack was going to the hospital and she hadn't returned, she prayed the CIA was looking. She stared angrily down at the handcuffs on her wrist. They made escaping twice as difficult. What she wouldn't give for a hairpin. She tilted her wrist and in the darkness tried to read her watch. It was either 9:55 or 11:45. She couldn't tell and had no clue how much time had passed since she left the CIA. It had all happened in a blur. Her wet hair dripped down her back, off her shirt and onto the expensive leather with a satisfying splash. She started to shiver. The handcuffs' cold metallic jingle broke the silence in the car. Sark turned around and glanced at Sydney. She looked down determined to hide her despair. Her tear stained face glistened, reflecting the headlights of the passing cars.  
  
"Are you cold?" Sark asked, his voice empty of emotion.  
  
"It's not going to work," she whispered, ignoring his question. It was the first thing she had said since leaving the safe house.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Whatever you are planning, won't work," she continued, her voice growing stronger as she continued, "The CIA will find me." She barely believed the words as she said them.  
  
"Don't be so sure Ms. Bristow, you didn't think anyone knew you were a double agent and look where that got you. Did you actually think you would fool me. It's fascinating really, you always try to find the good in a person. I don't know anyone besides you like that, except for maybe your mother, when I first met her." Sark paused, ending softly, "And you trust people easily, too. Too easily. You would even trust your mother if you found her again, wouldn't you?" Aware only to a small extent how perfectly he had read her, he waited for the response he knew wouldn't come. She shivered, angry she didn't know anything about him. His past was a mystery and she barely understood the present.  
  
"Where are we going?" she asked.  
  
"To an airport," he replied.  
  
"And then?"  
  
"Need to know basis, Ms. Bristow," he answered, not offering any more details.  
  
She sat there fuming for a moment before continuing, "So you're hiding?"  
  
"You could call it that. I don't have much of a choice. People don't take kindly to betrayal in this business."  
  
She sighed, grateful to some degree it was Sark saying that to her and not Sloane. "So, why do you need me?"  
  
"For one, I can't have you leaking to the CIA where I am and what I'm doing, and secondly--"  
  
"But I don't know what your doing or where your going!" she interrupted.  
  
"Let me finish Ms. Bristow--"  
  
"Finish what Sark? There isn't a good reason. Is it so you can have a friend?" she asked mockingly, determined to get back at him for understanding her so well. It was a poor attempt.  
  
"Right on, Ms. Bristow, you have me all figured out," he replied sarcastically. He leaned over and reached for his cell.  
  
"Luke, any more news?" He started before lowering his voice.  
  
She couldn't hear the rest of the conversation. Sark voice went from weary to angry by the end of the conversation.  
  
"Sydney?"he asked, not realizing he called her by her first name.  
  
"What?" she asked, still surprised from being called Sydney.  
  
"Just.," he started but then stopped, "Just know it might be a rough trip."  
  
She couldn't understand Sark. He never showed his emotions, but when he did it left her even more confused. Exhaustion set in and she slowly started to sleep.  
  
Bright lights shining in her face, woke her. She saw a huge SUV coming down the wrong side of the road. The headlights blared in their faces. Accelerating, Sark swerved to the left to avoid getting struck. Sydney watched in horror as the SUV barely missed their car. Their car spun out of control and skidded into a small ditch. The SUV tipped over in the middle of the road. Sark jumped out and approached the SUV, gun drawn. A man crawled out and started firing at Sark as he ran into the field by the road. Sark ran after him, took aim and fired. He watched silently as the man dropped to the ground.  
  
All Sydney heard was the gunshots. She was jammed on the floor between the seats. Cautiously she moved her legs, then her arms. Her ankle screamed with pain when she moved it. It was already beginning to swell. Painfully, she pulled herself back onto the seat. She watched as Sark calmly came back to the car and inspected it for damage. He walked around with a flashlight. He's perfectly fine, she thought, unfortunately.  
  
"That could have been worse. Okay back there?"  
  
"Never been better," she answered.  
  
"Do you always have swollen ankles then?"  
  
"I'm fine Sark, how's the car?"  
  
Sark walked over with the flashlight and attempted to start the engine. Nothing happened.  
  
"Sark? What now?"  
  
"Were ½ a mile from the airport, it would only be 20 minutes on foot" he stated leaving it up to her.  
  
"What? No! You want me to walk?"  
  
"What? You broke out of Taipei with a gunshot wound just fine."  
  
"I wasn't walking on my hands Sark."  
  
"If you're not up to it," he replied with mock resignation, "I'm sure there's another assassin waiting around that would be more than happy to take you home."  
  
"Point made, let's go."  
  
"After you."  
  
He held the flashlight and opened the door. He unlocked her handcuffs and reached down to help her out. She pushed him away. Supporting herself against the car, she tenderly took a step. Hot pain ran up her leg. She bit her lip to keep from crying. Her eyes filled with tears. Eyes on the ground, she took another step. The pain was incredible. Losing her balance, she fell to the ground. The rain and mud only made things worse. She took off her sweater, left with only her t-shirt on. Sorely missing the jacket she left with her dad, she ripped up her shirt for a make shift bandage. Knotting the strips as tightly as she could around her ankle, she tried to stand. Sark stood there quietly watching the whole ordeal. He tried to hide a grin but his eyes were twinkling. Eyes on a large branch, she crawled over and lifted it from the mud. Using to support herself, she walked over to Sark.  
  
"Ready?" he asked.  
  
All she could do was nod. She was afraid if she said anything, she would start to cry. Sark stood there awed at how well she handled so much pain. She is nothing to you, he reminded himself. Let her be stubborn. Where's her precious little handler now? Slowly, they began their descent to the airport. He walked behind her, shining the light ahead. Her shoulders shivered uncontrollably and her free hand was in a tight fist from all the pain.  
  
"Alright?" he asked.  
  
"Absolutely," she replied, her voice faltering.  
  
Pity actually tugged at the place where his heart should be. It was a rare thing. He walked up next to the struggling Sydney. He debated what to do. He could either be helpful or rude.  
  
"You're shivering."  
  
"In this weather, imagine that?"  
  
That's mature, he thought. "Here take my coat. We are going to be late if we don't hurry, and I can't have a sick hostage."  
  
"Believe me Sark, your hostage is fine."  
  
"I can tell, just take the coat. You're not proving anything." Frustration crossed his usually emotion free speech. She was being so difficult  
  
"No," she responded. The click of his gun made her freeze.  
  
"This is ridiculous." He took a step closer to her shivering body. "Take my coat. We don't have time for this."  
  
The coat did look tempting. She nodded telling herself she had no choice. She turned around and began to shift her weight so she could grab the coat. Sark, in one motion, put the coat on her free arm and over her shoulders before retreating back behind her.  
  
"Hurry up. We are going to be late, It's not much farther, just over the hill," he added, his voice void of emotion.  
  
She glared over her shoulder and continued slowly up the hill.  
  
thanks for reading, please review!! (remember to keep them nice and constructive, no bad words and such!! thanks!) 


	9. chapter 9

okay theres like 3 chapters here since im having issues uploading i put them all on one chapter  
  
thanks for reading, i have been gone all summer so this is hte first chance ive had to update  
  
Sydney's head was pounding and she knew her body would go into shock soon if she didn't get out of the cold. The raindrops hit her face like a thousand needles. Her drenched shirt clung to her shivering body. She slowly walked into a clearing in the middle of a wooded area. A small airplane was expertly hidden in the shadows. Yet the airplane appeared abandoned and run down. She stood there contemplating how she could escape. She could go into the woods and hide there until dawn. She knew she only had moments before Sark, who had been keeping his distance ever since the coat conversation, would catch up. Silently, she started to limp towards the woods. A twig snapping caught her attention.  
  
"Ms. Bristow, you're not trying to leave? Perhaps I have not made it perfectly clear that I will use any measure to keep you and the information you have away from the CIA. All extremes Ms. Bristow, do you understand?" Sark asked.  
  
Sydney refused to respond. She stared intently at her now extremely swollen ankle.  
  
"I could be treating you much worse, you know? Handcuffs and all that fun stuff, but I don't think either of us will benefit from you being treated like a common prisoner. I need you to promise."  
  
"Promise what, Sark? To be a good little girl and not run away?" Sydney asked, furiously.  
  
"Promise that you wont leave, now or later. We're both adults, can I trust you?" He asked and ran his hands through his wet hair, shaking his head in utter disbelief that he was even having this conversation.  
  
Can you trust me? Like hell you can, she screamed inside. No just say no, he's not going to trust you, even if you say yes. She looked up, fully intending to say no and put Sark in his place. Just before she spoke Sark looked up and just watched her, studying her expression. He looked so weary and warn out. Well, she could always take it back. "I promise."  
  
"Alright then, the plane is over in the brush. We need to leave immediately," he ordered, then added, "It wont be long before more assassins find our trail."  
  
Following him to the plane, she wondered in awe what it must feel to have every enemy of the united states under the impression that you betrayed them. The cockpit was eerily empty.  
  
"Who's the pilot?"  
  
"I am," he answered, inspecting the outside of the plane for damage.  
  
"You? No seriously, where's the pilot?" she asked.  
  
"I am the pilot," he answered, irritation rising in his voice.  
  
"You are going to fly the plane in this weather? I can barely see to even walk and you think you can fly a plane in it? An experienced pilot maybe, but you?" she asked, the words harsher then she intended.  
  
"Just get in, you don't have a choice."  
  
Sydney reluctantly followed Sark into the small airplane. The interior of the plane consisted of two pilot seats and a cargo area in the back. The small dimensions made her feel defenseless and vulnerable. She never enjoyed flying, even when on commercial airlines. She wasn't like most people who could relax and sleep on a plane. She couldn't even take a nap on a plane. She collapsed exhaustedly in the copilot chair next to sark. The plane roared to life. Sark leaned over, "ready?"  
  
"I guess," she responded, she awkwardly looked around, "Do you have a-"  
  
"pillow?" he asked, noticing her discomfort.  
  
"yeah," she answered surprised he noticed.  
  
"There should be a pillow under the seat. You should really elevate your ankle. It's looking bad."  
  
She reached down and grabbed a small pillow. "Is it going to be a long flight?" she asked hoping to figure out where they were going.  
  
"It is a good while away. Get some sleep,"  
  
She frowned, anticipating the long sleepless night ahead. The plane lurched forward. Ignoring the branches hitting the plane, Sark expertly maneuvered down a makeshift runway. Within moments, they were off the ground. She gripped onto the edge of the armrest so hard her knuckles turned white. Although the plane continued on smoothly, she didn't let go of the armrest.  
  
"I assure you, we wont crash," Sark said, almost smiling.  
  
She couldn't respond even if she wanted to, her throat was too tight from nerves. She looked out the window, trying to calm down, but the rain was hitting the window too hard to see anything. She looked at Sark next to her. In the dim cabin lighting, she watched as he set the plane on auto pilot. His blue eyes reflected the navy sky and cabin lights. They were the color of a storm, but they weren't angry or intimidating. The color of a storm on the beach, she decided, and his hair, although it was still damp, was the color of bleached sand. Shivering she pulled Sark's leather coat around her tighter and curled up in the seat. Still gazing at Sark, she put the pillow on the armrest and awkwardly put her ankle on it. If he noticed she was watching him, he didn't show it.  
  
His coat smelled good, she realized. It smelled liked expensive leather. She hoped it wasn't ruined. It smelled like cologne and it smelled clean. The way someone smells when they first get out of the shower, still wet and lightly smelling of soap. The coat smelled like Sark, yet it smelled comforting at the same time. She let the smell drift around her. She breathed in deep and it filled her lungs. She stopped shivering and started to calm down. She didn't realize she was falling asleep, but Sark did. He turned out the cabin lights so that they were in almost complete darkness. He wasn't worried about being discovered. Years ago he secured this escape route. He watched Syd. Her breath became deep and even as she drifted to sleep. Her eyes no longer studied him, freeing him in from her gaze. Her hair was damp and pieces were stuck around her face and neck. She was curled into a ball, his coat wrapped around her tightly. He almost smiled. She looked so tired and warn out. He felt bad for bringing her into all this but he had no choice, she knew too much already. She was lucky she was still alive. Watching her, he saw the real Sydney. Her façade was gone. She was no longer the confident unstoppable woman she tried so hard to be everyday. Was this the Sydney, Will Tippen saw every night? Or the Sydney, Vaughn saw every day? He doubted that she ever consciously let anyone see the real Sydney. That's why he rarely slept, you gave up too much control. He leaned back and took one last glance at his new prisoner for who knew how long. He sighed.  
  
"Goodnight Sydney," he whispered. He jerked forward with a start. When the hell did he start calling her Sydney out loud? He ran his hands through his hair and wondered if he really knew what he was getting himself into.  
  
But my dreams  
  
They aren't as empty  
  
As my conscience seems to be  
  
I have hours, only lonely  
  
My love is vengeance  
  
That's never free  
  
No one knows what it's like  
  
To feel these feelings  
  
Like I do  
  
And I blame you  
  
Sark sighed and rubbed his face groggily. His bloodshot eyes and ashen face were testament of yet another sleepless night. Every night held the promise of peaceful sleep, refuge from his empty and meaningless life, but sanctuary never came. The rare moments of sleep left him exhausted. His dreams were filled with the final screams, tears, and pleas from his victims. He couldn't escape their ghostly faces or the never ending taunting from the one person he couldn't destroy: Sloane. That was then, now Sydney's face alone filled his mind in the night. Her pale face, her dark brown eyes glazed in pain, stalked him. She was always dead in the dreams, and even though he never saw it happen, he knew he was responsible. He was losing control, and it infuriated him. It made him weak if he wasn't in control over his emotions. A week ago, he couldn't have cared less if Sydney died, but now it was haunting him and he couldn't understand why. He was never good at understanding his emotions, it was much easier to toy with other's minds then to understand your own.  
  
He stared out the window, searching for comfort, and watched the glowing red sun rise above the ocean of clouds. The navy sky turned a deep shade of lilac, then rose, and finally a brilliant blue. The warm sunlight drifted into the plane, chasing away the demons of the night. The shadow over his mind lifted slightly. The pure beauty of nature was one of the few things he ever found comfort in.  
  
In the early morning light, Sark inspected his clothes self-consciously. Instead of his usual flawless appearance, his clothes were wrinkled, covered in dirt, and ripped. A 900 dollar outfit, ruined, he thought in disgust. He turned to inspect Sydney. She was covered in mud as well, her thin t-shirt was ripped and her khaki pants were now a shade of dark brown. Her face was a mess. Mascara mixed with tears remained dried in gray lines on her cheeks. Her hair was tangled around her face. She was in the same crumpled position she was in when she fell asleep last night, arms entangled in his coat. Her ankle had completely disappeared and in its place was a puffy grapefruit sized green and blue welt.  
  
Making sure she was asleep, Sark reached under his seat and retrieved his cell phone, hidden from Sydney the night before. It would be a short conversation, he knew but he wasn't looking forward to it. Distracted in his thoughts, he didn't notice her eyes flash open then quickly shut again. Running his hand through his hair, he waited for the call to go through.  
  
"Is the artifact at the destination?" She heard him ask.  
  
"Indeed?" he asked, his voice losing a degree of control. "From who Luke?"  
  
"You sent it with the artifact? Damn it, Luke, it's called a wireless phone for a reason, you can call anyone anywhere, amazing isn't it? Trying using it next time" He slammed down the phone and she heard him dial a new number, muttering about there not being a next time.  
  
"It's time, kill him. Yes it is unfortunate. . . you to, goodbye." Silence filled the plane.  
  
"Who are you playing God with now, Sark?" she questioned, after recovering from the shock that the poor kid who tried so hard to please Sark was going to die, if he wasn't dead already.  
  
"Good morning to you too, Ms. Bristow. You look just lovely." The panic in his voice was smoothly hidden with sarcasm.  
  
"You didn't answer my question," Glaring at him, she sat up and tucked her messy hair behind her ears.  
  
"It doesn't concern you Ms. Bristow. It is neither important or necessary that you know. I'm not going to tell you." he answered for the fun of it, he was sure she knew the answer already, her initial expression gave it away.  
  
"You don't need to."  
  
Sark sat there, studying a map, ignoring her. It mad her even more angry. "Who haven't you killed, Sark?"  
  
"You." he answered matter-of-factly, shifting his gun at his side for emphasis as he put down the map. The smirk melted off her face with the grim reminder of what Sark was. He smiled to himself and examined the controls, turning off autopilot. Slowly the plane descended through the thick cloud layer revealing a rocky coastline below. Turning inland, he maneuvered the plane along the coast, over a small village along the steep cliffs. Waves were breaking in great flashes of white against the cliffs. Sydney watched in awe as the breathtaking countryside flowed by, a ribbon of colors. In all the missions she had been on, all the exotic places she'd been to, nothing compared to the beauty of this land. For a moment, the beauty cleared her heart from all worries. Her dad's well-being, her rescue, Luke's death, and Sark, all of it vanished. Dropping even closer to the ground, she watched as a huge stone castle rose on the horizon. Sark prepared to land, following the coastline, a small road appeared. The runway was old but it served it's purpose. The plane landed with a small thud and stopped. He gathered the few necessary belongings and opened the door. Immediately, cold fresh hair swirled into the plane. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she sat up to get out. Pain ran through her, reminding her all too late not to stand on her ankle. Hiding her cry from Sark, she sat back down. Sark stuck his head in.  
  
"Syd-Ms. Bristow, don't worry about walking, there should be a car here soon."  
  
She looked up gratefully, but couldn't thank him. He was standing on the edge of the cliff, staring out at the choppy ocean. In the distance, a bell solemnly rang through the mist. The fog almost hid him from her sight, his image started to blur as her eyes got tired from looking through the fog Rubbing them, she leaned back into the seat. She looked around the cabin, alone for the first time. Thoughts of the CIA and rescue filled her mind. She reached under her seat but found nothing. Awkwardly, she shifted her weight so she could reach under his seat, but still keep her ankle from hurting. Leg sprawled one direction, she reached for the phone. She froze as a cold hand closed around her wrist.  
  
"Ms. Bristow, I can assure you that you will not find what you're looking for," he teased cruelly, holding cell phone in his other hand. Still holding her wrist tightly, he reached in the back of the airplane and grabbed the abandoned hand cuffs. "Give me your hands," he ordered.  
  
"Are you serious, Sark?" She asked, backing against her seat.  
  
He grabbed her hands and forced them in front of her, quickly putting the handcuffs around her wrist. "I told you there was an easy way and a hard way. I personally would have chosen the easy way." He grabbed her and pulled her out of the plane. She stumbled to the ground. The car pulled up beside them and he pushed her in it. She stared angrily out the window at the violent ocean, anxiously waiting the arrival to their final destination. She silently wondered what Luke sent Sark that upset him so much.  
  
When my fist clenches, crack it open  
  
Before I use it and lose my cool  
  
When I smile, tell me some bad news  
  
Before I laugh and act like a fool  
  
If I swallow anything evil  
  
Put your finger down my throat  
  
If I shiver, please give me a blanket  
  
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat  
  
thanks to my betas kalena henden, auroraskyes37, and Prlrocks, they saved this chapter, i never would have gotten it done with out their help!!  
  
"Mike, it's not your fault. There's nothing else you could have done." Weiss recited the worn out phrase, hoping this time it would sink in. Vaughn shook his head and leaned back into the worn leather seat. A light hanging over the table created a dim yellow haze in the booth. Weiss absentmindedly picked at a plate of cold fries, covered in cheap ketchup and salt. Vaughn swirled his glass, muttering into the drink.  
  
"I should have gone with her Weiss, I shouldn't have let her go alone," he paused. A flickering neon sign in the window cast red shadows around them illuminating Vaughn's unkempt face. Raising his voice, he continued, "Look at Jack, he's barely conscious. What the hell do you think Sark did to Syd?" Weiss looked down, blocking the unwanted visions of a tortured Sydney from his mind.  
  
"I never even told her I loved her."  
  
"She knew," Weiss whispered solemnly to his friend.  
  
"She was everything to me. She was my shred of sanity on the worst of days, and she'll never know because of.... of Alice."  
  
"No man, don't go there again tonight," Weiss grabbed their coats and tossed a wad of crumpled bills on the table. He helped Vaughn up and they left the empty bar together.  
  
Vaughn, Kendall, and Weiss sat in the tiny conference room. For the last 3 days they had been going over the same folders filled with useless leads on Sydney's whereabouts. Vaughn held his head in his hands, fatigue washing over him. The door creaked. Vaughn looked up, expecting another agent coming in to help. He couldn't have been more wrong.  
  
Sydney strolled into the room, wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair was pulled up into a messy bun. Her eyes twinkled with laughter. She playfully grabbed the folders and after skimming over them, laughed, "You guys couldn't have been more off." Smiling, she walked over to Vaughn, "Miss me?"  
  
"Syd!" The short greeting was all he could say, but his smile said it all.  
  
"Vaughn?" she asked, "Vaughn?" He frowned, her voice sounded like Weiss. "Agent Vaughn?" she asked again, now sounding like Kendall.  
  
"Syd?" he asked worried. A sharp pain in his shin caused him to jerk his head out of his hands.  
  
Sydney was gone. Weiss stared at him in shock, not sure whether he should laugh. Finally Kendall spoke. "Agent Vaughn, if you see this meeting as an opportunity for a nap, that's your problem. Could you be so kind as to not talk in your sleep? We really don't want to be a part of your dreams involving Agent Bristow."  
  
"Yes sir," Vaughn answered, blushing. He looked around for a possible escape. "Is it alright if I go get some more coffee?" he asked, grabbing his empty coffee cup.  
  
"Be my guest," Kendall answered, "you more than need it."  
  
Vaughn shut the conference room door and collapsed against the wall. Sitting in that room, going over the same leads countless times, he'd never felt more helpless. Sydney would have broken every rule and been half way around the world looking for him by now, he thought guiltily. She even worked with the enemy to save him. He swallowed, realizing for the first time what he had to do. If the CIA couldn't find her then he would have to find someone who could.  
  
Jack Bristow lay awake in the dark hospital room. The mechanical beeping and endless dripping of the IV would've kept anyone awake. It was all thanks to Sark and his goon that he found no rest. The throbbing pain in his head still remained. As well as the pain from the broken ribs and bruises from the beating he took after Sark and Sydney left. This kept him wide awake, miserable, and most of all, scared.  
  
Vaughn quietly walked in and sat down in the cheap hospital chair next to the bed. Jack's left eye was swollen shut and his right shoulder showing through the hospital gown was covered in a purple welt. Vaughn shifted restlessly, wondering if he should've really been there. Shaking his head, he started to stand up. Jack's cold hand grasped Vaughn's hand and looked up at him with fear in his eyes. Vaughn shuddered. Never had he been more afraid of what Jack was capable of. Jack motioned towards the Styrofoam cup filled with melting ice chips. He reached for it being careful to keep a firm grip on Jack's hand. It frightened him to see Jack so undone and scared. Jack was never scared, he never let anything get to him. Vaughn would never admit it, but he was never truly scared unless Jack was.  
  
After drinking the water, Jack started to speak in a hoarse whisper. "Why are you here? Did they find her?"  
  
"No, the CIA doesn't know anything, that's why I'm here. I need you to help me find her. The CIA isn't getting anywhere." Vaughn hesitated, then continued, "When I was going to die, Syd worked with Sark to save me, and now Sloane is who I need to ally with."  
  
Jack stared at Vaughn, not judging, just waiting for an explanation.  
  
"He's the only person with enough power and lack of ethics to be of any use. Besides, Sark walked out on him as well. It's our last chance." Vaughn ended in a whisper. While convincing Jack, he managed to destroy what little confidence in the plan he had.  
  
"Alright, Vaughn. Say we use Sloane to find Sark and Sydney, how do you plan on convincing him that you can be trusted and that he should even help you in the first place?"  
  
"That's why I'm here." Vaughn answered somberly, knowing this was his final plea. 


	10. chapter 10

this is a lot of chapts put togather, hope you like, PLEASE review! thanks  
  
Sark pulled on his lip thoughtfully. It felt as if a shadow was hovering over his heart, spreading an immense coldness through out his body. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stop the pounding through out his body. Exhaling slowly, he watched the castle approach. The memories he'd worked so hard to forget came flooding back with a vengeance. The levy he built long ago to block the memories and the pain started to crumble then disintegrated completely.  
  
"What was this place?" Sydney questioned, deciding to find out what she could until an opportunity for escape presented itself.  
  
"It's not important; some old property belonging to your mother." It was the truth, to a degree.  
  
Sydney debated whether it was the truth or not. Perplexed, she couldn't decipher his expression.  
  
"You're a bad liar, Sark" She tried to sound convincing.  
  
"So are you." He smirked.  
  
So she didn't come off very convincing; she'd figure out what this place was soon enough.  
  
"It looks so peaceful," she added, trying to get more information.  
  
"It was anything but peaceful, Ms. Bristow."  
  
Prepared for sarcasm, the truth in his voice unsettled her.  
  
The car pulled behind the castle. The grounds were in flawless condition, confirming Sark's suspicions. He half-heartedly instructed Sydney to stay in the car, knowing she was in no position to do otherwise. He opened the door and got out, waiting to identify who was at the castle. A tall man, elegantly dressed, walked out cautiously.  
  
"Welcome home, Sark!" The tall man spoke. Sark looked up at him threateningly. He had no idea Irina had allowed them to stay.  
  
"Irina did tell you we were here?" He asked, reading Sark's expression.  
  
Sark urgently confronted his once most trusted confident whom he hadn't seen in over a decade. "Ben, are you loyal to Irina Derevko?"  
  
"No sir, I am not."  
  
Sark reached secretly for his gun, "If not to her, than who?"  
  
"My loyalty lies only with you, Sark."  
  
Sark nodded gratefully.  
  
"The woman in the car over there, Sydney Bristow, is a CIA agent. She had no idea regarding what this place is. Do you understand? Do not refer to this as my home."  
  
"The woman Irina told us to expect?"  
  
"She told you we were coming? When?" Sark looked around bewildered.  
  
"We've know you were coming for months now."  
  
"Months?" Sark yelled.  
  
"She contacted us again a couple of days ago to confirm that Sydney would be with you."  
  
"It's not possible," he said slowly, "She has been in hiding for months now."  
  
"Sir, I swear on my life it's true!"  
  
"Ben, she set all this up, I have no idea how or why. Days ago, Intel went out that I was a CIA agent. Every one of my contacts believes I betrayed them. I knew Irina set it up; I assumed it was because I was still pursuing Rambaldi artifacts, against her will. But all of this, I don't understand."  
  
"Sark," Ben began, "There's more, the Rambaldi artifact came but Luke also sent another artifact with a note in it. I think you need to see it."  
  
Sark looked around helplessly, realizing that he had truly been a pawn in Irina's games for months now, if not more.  
  
"I'm bringing in Sydney Bristow. Remember, she thinks this is just some old property." He paused and looked back at Ben. "Honestly I don't know what she thinks but just watch what you say."  
  
Sark walked up to the car and pulled Sydney out, cautious of her ankle. He forcefully pulled her by her shoulders behind the car. Face inches away from hers, he whispered, "My most trusted operative is here so don't bother trying to escape."  
  
"What the hell are you doing this to me for?"  
  
"Agent Bristow-"  
  
"Save the Agent Bristow, Sark. I'm sick of you patronizing me." She struggled to keep eye contact.  
  
"Alright Sydney, what makes you think I owe you any explanation?"  
  
It was all she needed, she dove at him with all her pent up anger and frustration. She kicked his knee with her good leg. She struggled to wrap the chain from the handcuffs around his neck. He slammed his elbow into the side of her head. She staggered back, struggling to regain her balance. Sark grabbed her wrist and twisted it painfully behind her head, then kneed her in the stomach.  
  
Sprawled on the ground, she gasped for air. Sark cockily leaned over her. She instinctively punched him in the face.  
  
"Damn it, Sydney!" He held his nose, trying to stop the blood from dripping on his already ruined shirt. She grabbed his gun and pushed it into his neck as hard as she could. Throwing him against the car, she reached into his pockets, searching for the keys. Ignoring his smirk, she reached into his back pocket and grabbed the key. She unlocked the handcuffs and threw them as far as she could.  
  
"I'll ask you again," she paused, breathing heavily, "what the hell is going on?"  
  
"Like I said-" he began.  
  
She slammed his head into the hood of the car, glaring at him menacingly, "Answer me, the truth, damn it!"  
  
Sark tilted his head slightly and grinned at Sydney, "I think you are strongly mistaken Sydney. I tell you what I want," He paused and kicked her in the ankle. She fell to the ground. Pinning her to the ground, he finished, "When I want!" ~~~~ The room was quiet, but she knew she wasn't alone. Cautiously, she felt the gash on her head. Dry blood was entangled in her hair but the cut was no longer bleeding. Silently, she cursed herself for wasting her time questioning Sark's intentions instead of leaving when she had the chance. Holding her head, she started to stand. A wire immediately pulled her down. She stared furiously at the band around her ankle connected to the short wire anchored to the wall. She slumped down in defeat. The metal door, slightly open, let in a thin beam of light exposing the stone walls and dirt covered floor. Sark's operative was sitting outside the door, watching her. Someone came down the hall and passed the room. Exactly how many people were in the castle? Another person walked down the hall but stopped outside the room.  
  
"Ben, is she awake?"  
  
"I believe so, Sir. I was just about to alert you. Sir?" Ben hesitated, "Are you sure she doesn't need medical help? Her head wound was bleeding severely not to mention that she was unconscious for the last 3 hours."  
  
"Head wounds bleed profusely," Sark answered, his voice void of any emotion.  
  
"Sir?" Concern was etched in Ben's voice..  
  
"I'm not worried," Sark answered sharply, "She is the most resilient person I've ever fought."  
  
Sark pushed the door open and was welcomed by a furious Sydney.  
  
"Was slamming a gun into my head really necessary?" Slumped against the wall, she dared him to answer.  
  
"Glad to see your fairing fine, besides, you didn't leave me many options," he answered. He had changed into a clean white cotton shirt and khaki slacks. His hair was still damp from his shower.  
  
He squatted down in front of her. Mouth set in his usual half frown, his heart raced. Even in the shadows, he could see why Ben was concerned. She looked like she'd been through hell and back, he thought guiltily. Blood covered the side of her head. Cuts and bruises covered her arms most likely from the accident and the hike to the plane. Her appearance looked even worse now against his clean clothes and freshly showered body. His leather coat was still wrapped around her tightly, covered in dried mud. Her eyes lacked the fight he admired so much.  
  
Determined to bring it back, he began, "Sydney, I assure you escape is futile. I will personally guarantee you'll have nothing to return to."  
  
"You son of a bitch," she leaned forward, pulling on the wire with every ounce on anger she possessed.  
  
"Will, Francie, your father," he began, knowing that the old Sydney Bristow was back, "Vaughn."  
  
"What the hell gives you the right to do this to me?" she asked, speaking through her teeth, "Why do you even want me here?"  
  
"I don't want you anywhere Sydney, and I sure as hell don't want you here. That's the bloody problem. Irina destroyed it all, everything I worked for." Running his hands through his tousled curls, he continued, "I have no alliances, no favors to rely on, nothing."  
  
"A tragedy Sark, really, yet I fail to see what I have to do with it."  
  
"Don't you get it? You have everything to do with it. Sydney, you are the only one out there who can even put up a fight against me. You don't just give up when the awful Mr. Sark walks in."  
  
Sydney stared at him, furiously trying to understand why he was telling her this, trying to find his true motivation for keeping her here.  
  
Sark just watched her, then his voice filled with hesitation, he continued, "How could I possibly go into hiding and expect to return to anything if I allowed you to remain at the CIA uncompromised?"  
  
"I don't understand.." she lied, the impact of his words sinking in.  
  
Sark glanced up, solemnly, "Yes, you do."  
  
"Who's he?" she asked softly, pointing to the shadow in the doorway.  
  
"Ben," he answered, sick of the questions and weary of the fact that he was answering them. "Lets go."  
  
"To where?" she asked.  
  
"Your room." Cautiously, he leaned past her body slumped against the wall. Avoiding her eyes, he unhooked the wire from the ball and took off the band from her ankle, inadvertently brushing her skin.  
  
Her body shivered involuntarily against his warm touch. Glancing up, she met his cold blue eyes. "The cold," she began.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The castle was even more stunning on the inside. Leaving the cell, the stone paths transformed in to the halls of the castle, becoming increasingly more beautiful as they walked. But it was a sad kind of beauty, worn down to a dull luster. Years of dark shadows and solitude had taken their toll.  
  
Sark walked behind her in silence, lost in his own memories, speaking only to direct her down the labyrinth of halls. The sound of her crutches filled the halls with an eerie thudding. He stopped in a large hall. The one wall was covered in a gorgeous stained glass mural. The image of angels rose up to the ceiling, giving the room a reverent ambiance. Below the angels was the image of a bed of roses in every color, climbing to greet the heavens Sydney stopped beneath the window in awe. The subtle beauty of the picture, inexplicable created a feeling of hope. She leaned back on the crutches, studying the ceiling. The domed ceiling was gorgeous. Gold crown molding lined the edge of the ceiling. Gorgeous chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the crystal sending specks of light dancing across their faces. The floor was a mosaic of small marble chips, scattered with no apparent design. Staring at it though, she noticed a design that looked somewhat like the eye of Rambaldi. Dismissing it as a coincidence, she shivered just the same.  
  
"They are 48 rooms in the castle. You have access to 47 of them." He pointed down the hall to the left, "That hall is restricted."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I don't suggest pressing the matter. Your room," he pointed down the hall next to the forbidden wing, "is down there. I have been assured you will find everything you need already there."  
  
She stood there, leaning on the crutches, waiting for him to finish speaking. To her surprise, he turned and walked down the forbidden wing without a second glance back at her.  
  
~~~~~  
  
The hall was dark and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. He breathed heavily as he walked down the hall, memories screaming in the silence, flooding his ears. Shadows hid in every corner, unveiling yet another memory he tried so hard to forget. His hand shook slightly as reached to push the heavy door open. The room looked exactly how he knew it would; no one dared to pick up the destroyed furniture, clean up the broken decorations, fix the ripped pictures. Walking slowly into his room, a lone tear escaped, tracing the jagged line of his broken heart down his cheek. Visions from that cursed night filled the room; the blood, the tears, the pain. If the promise of the mirror and the mysterious artifact weren't waiting on the other side of the room, he never would have had the strength to enter it again. Even now, he questioned if he had the strength to make it through the room.  
  
He almost made it to the desk in the corner where the artifacts sat with out losing it. Bumping into his bed, a crumpled picture fell to the ground. A smiling boy hugging his mother and sister stared up at him. Leaning to pick it up, two more slid off the bed to the ground. More shining blue eyes watched him. One picture was of him, dressed up as an American cowboy, rescuing his sister. Another tear wound down his cheek and splashed on the ripped photo of his father. He picked it up, along with the others, grateful that the head was torn off the photo, sparing him the pain of having to look into those eyes again. Laying them on his bed, he walked to the desk.  
  
His stomach lurched and his throat began to tighten, the same as always when he approached the work of Rambaldi. He picked up the mirror first. Trembling, he took a small vile of burgundy liquid and poured it onto a cloth. He wiped it over the tarnished metal and it immediately became a mirrored surface. He looked behind him, feeling foolish. He leaned closely to the mirror and whispered, "Irina Derevko". The mirror turned black. He stood there shaking, knowing he was so close to finding the placewhere Irina was hiding, and still capable of controlling his life. Colors swirled around on the metal, forming the hazy image of Irina standing on a roof. He smiled, relieved that his worse suspicions weren't true. She hadn't betrayed him, she truly was just in hiding, as she had told him. He looked closer at the image, looking for clues to discover her whereabouts. He nearly dropped the mirror, when he saw that the armed men in the background, were not her guards, but were holding their gun at her. He tried to read their uniforms, but couldn't, but the American flags on their shoulders was all he needed. The black market intel was true, Derevcho really had turned herself in to the CIA. The ultimate betrayal. He couldn't understand why. Everything she told him was a lie. The horror of her betrayal lessened the thrill that Rambaldi really had made the ultimate device. A mirror that could look into any person's lives. Taking the rag, he wiped it over the glass surface. It returned to a tarnished metal surface immediately.  
  
Pocketing the vile, he picked up the small chest sitting next to the mirror. The chest was split into two sections. An ancient, yet sturdy wooden lid covered each compartment. Two locks held the lids on tight. An envelope was sitting next to the chest. Running his finger under the seam, he ripped a small hole in the envelope. A small skeleton key fell out, but no note was there to reveal the sender of the strange gift. He put the key in the first lock, but it didn't fit. Shaking slightly, he put it in the second lock. Turning it slightly, the lock opened and fell to the ground. The lid opened easily. Golden cloth filled the small compartment. Gently taking out the bundle of cloth, he felt a heavy object inside of it shift. Slowly, the gold silk slid off revealing a small glass box. Inside of it was a perfect red rose, it looked as if it was picked moments ago but he knew that was impossible. He placed it back in the box carefully, covering it with the gold silk.  
  
He closed and locked the box, in a reverent manner, and left the room to go tell Ben what had just happened. ~~~~~~~~~ Even with the bedroom curtains closed, rays of sunshine sneaked in, dancing across Sydney's face. She was sound asleep on the huge canopy bed, wrapped up in a crimson down comfort. A mound of ivory and crimson pillows surrounded her. Next to her bed, sat a small wood table. It was piled high with lavender scented towels, soaps, delicious smelling perfumes, and every toiletry item she could possibly need. True to his word, Sark made sure she had everything she would need.  
  
Slumped in an overstuffed chair, Sark noticed irritably that nothing had been used. His leather jacket lay in a crumpled heap next to the table. Waiting for her to wake, he went over every possible way the confrontation could play out to his favor. He studied her with fury still blazing in his eyes. All his anger and hurt from Irina's betrayal, he transferred to Sydney. He should have interrogated her immediately. He was foolishly ignoring his instincts. He was too confident that he had Sydney all figured out, that he knew every aspect of her life. Somehow he managed to ignore the signs that Irina was once again in contact with Sydney.  
  
Movement across the room caught his attention. Sydney sat up slowly, the down blanket sliding down around her waist. Clad only in her torn t-shirt and jeans, she leaned forward groggily, pulling her knees in front of her chest.  
  
"How long has Derevko been in CIA custody?" Sark questioned, unable to contain his rage.  
  
Sydney ignored it all: the severity of Sark's question and all it implied, the unrepressed fury in his voice, the fact that Sark had been in her room, watching her sleep.  
  
Staring at him, she began speaking. "I fell asleep last night praying this was all just a f***ed up dream." She said it not in anger or desperation, but with a solemn sense of acceptance and surrender. "I was desperate to fall asleep and to just wake up back in my own bed. But I didn't," She laughed coldly, "I woke up to a question like that. I woke up to you and your god damn games."  
  
Sark leaned back, speechless. He hadn't expected to lose control that fast. He had been expecting her to scream at him, for her to be angry, or at least for her to be afraid. He needed to feed of those emotions, to break her down. Frantically he searched for the perfect line, a way to gain the control back.  
  
"I-" Sark began, but stopped abruptly. Ben stood in the doorway, holding a small envelope.  
  
"Sark I think-" Ben rolled back on his heels, barely containing his excitement.  
  
Sark walked towards Ben and grabbed the envelope out of his hands. He turned back to Sydney. "This is isn't over."  
  
"Is it ever?" she questioned softly before sliding back under the covers.  
  
"I think it's the second key," Ben began excitedly, following Sark down the hall. "The key to the second Rambaldi compartment."  
  
Ben shivered slightly but followed Sark as he entered the room. Carefully he wound his way past the crumpled pictures and destroyed furniture, joining Sark in front of the ancient chest. Sark ripped open the envelope and an oddly shaped skeleton key fell out. Once again, no note or address hinted to the sender's identity. He tried to put it in the second lock but it wouldn't fit.  
  
"I don't understand," Sark whispered in disbelief, "It should fit."  
  
Ben reached for the key. "Perhaps," Ben turned the key so that it was sideways. A small rod Sark hadn't noticed before stuck out. "Try it this way." Ben instructed, handing the key to Sark.  
  
Sark tried it again with the key turned sideways. The lock opened and fell off with a small thud.  
  
Ben grinned triumphantly. "Glad to know I can still kick your ass at something every once and awhile."  
  
Sark wasn't listening. He opened the lid carefully, his eyes glowing a brilliant blue. Rolled up in the bottom of the compartment was a small piece of parchment. Sark recognized it immediately as the work of Rambaldi. He unrolled it carefully, smoothing the crumpled corners, marveling at the pristine shape it was in. Curvy script covered the paper.  
  
"Ben.." Sark stared at the paper in awe. "It cant be."  
  
"Cant be what?" Ben asked, his voice cracking in anticipation.  
  
"It's the Rambaldi prophecy. It has to be." Sark solemnly handed the paper to Ben.  
  
Ben stared in bewilderment. Sark's face filled the background of the parchment. "The man depicted will bring forth my greatest works, gaining the power to render the greatest power of either good or evil to utter desolation. The choice is his, but not his alone. A woman possessing unseen marks can quell his fire through love. Together they shall bring down the greatest evil. If, by his 30th birthday, this man cannot learn to love, then the greatest power of good and all it stands for is doomed."  
  
"But I thought the prophecy was about Bristow?" Ben asked.  
  
"The CIA could never prove it was. All the signs didn't fit together." Sark answered automatically. "Now I see why. It wasn't the real prophecy.." Sark trailed off, the full realization sinking in.  
  
"Who set up Bristow?"  
  
"My mother." Sydney answered, stepping forward from the shadows.  
  
Sark hand dropped to his side, ready to grab his gun. "You shouldn't be in here, Sydney. Get out!"  
  
Ben moved next to Sark. His warm green eyes flashed dangerously.  
  
"My mother set it up. It all makes sense now. The CIA still thinks the prophecy is about my mother. She managed to show me that she was still alive by changing the prophecy and it made her life valuable to the CIA."  
  
"I said get out." Sark ordered, knowing it was too late. She'd already seen the product of his weakest moment.  
  
" You want to know how long my mother's been in CIA custody? Long enough to destroy what little closure I had over my mother's death. Long enough for me to question if she still loves me. I even began to hope she gave it all up for me. But now," she whispered, "I know the truth."  
  
Sark stared her in the eyes. Anger, hurt and somehow envy shown in them, despite her attempts to hide it.  
  
"The truth?" Sark asked, still unsure what started her outburst.  
  
"I don't mean s*** to her. She changed the prophecy to protect you, she didn't care about what was going to happen to me if she changed it. She forced you in to hiding to protect you."  
  
"What is wrong with you? You think she is protecting me? I didn't even know she went to the CIA! I don't need her to protect me."  
  
"Apparently she thinks other wise."  
  
He couldn't believe it. "Get out."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Get out! Just leave." Sark walked toward her, barely able to contain his rage. He pulled his gun out and shakily pointed it at her.  
  
"Get out!" He fired at the wall behind her.  
  
She ran as fast as she could down the hall. Her ankle buckled under her weight but she didn't stop. ~~~~~~~~ Vaughn walked quickly down the hall, weaving between nurses and hospital equipment. His heart quickened with every step he took. Hand hesitating on the door handle, the hospital bustle seemed to stop around him. Taking a deep breath, he entered the dark room. He walked slowly, dreading Jack's solution. No matter what, it wasn't going to be easy.  
  
Jack turned, watching Vaughn. Stitches covered the left side of his face. His right eye was swollen shut. Jack caught Vaughn staring at him. "Looks worse then it feels."  
  
"I, Alice sent these." Vaughn held a small flower arrangement out uncomfortably. "She overheard me talking to Weiss about visiting you in the hospital so she went and got these."  
  
Jack pointed to a already growing pile of flowers and cards on his bed side table.  
  
"Popular guy." Vaughn joked, pulling a chair up next to the bed. "Can I get you anything?"  
  
"I only need one thing." Jack answered.  
  
Vaughn looked down, waiting a moment before bringing up the question of how to create an alliance with LSoane. "So I was-" Vaughn began.  
  
"Vaughn, we don't have much time." Jack interrupted. Gritting his teeth, he reached for a pad of paper and a pen. "I informed Sloane after speaking to you that there had been an accident involving me and Sydney. I purposely left out details."  
  
He wrote down numbers on the pad of paper. "Located in this CIA file cabinet is a copy of your CIA profile, except you aren't Sydney's handler and all you do is desk work. Follow that as your cover."  
  
He looked up to make sure Vaughn was following. "Take it to Sloane, he'll be expecting you. Also in the folder is a letter explaining that I have been keeping tabs on you for years as a possible SD-6 agent but the CIA got you first. Tell him that before the accident I approached you, telling you that a division of the CIA was interested in you."  
  
"How is this going to help Syd?" Jack ignored him and started writing on the paper again.  
  
"If he shows interest in you, give him this." He folded up the paper and motioned for Vaughn to take it. "This tells the details of "my accident". Sark's men attacked Syd and me. She is assumed to be in Sark's custody. It promises him Sark in return for his help, as well as any Rambaldi artifacts found. I also suggest that you would be a valuable asset to the search and his operations."  
  
Vaughn ran his hands through his hair, terrified at the thought of bargaining with Sloane. "What if he doesn't show..interest?"  
  
"Run like hell."  
  
"Right."  
  
A cheerful nurse walked in, opening the blinds so that a blast of light filled the room. "Mr. Bristow, how are we today?"  
  
Jack said nothing. The nurse walked to the IV, and injected a small amount of medicine into the line. "Morphine to the rescue, right?" she smiled.  
  
Jack turned to Vaughn, "he's expecting you at four, good luck." ~~~~~~~~~~ Sydney ran with the image of Sark's blue eyes, full of fury and rage, seared into her mind. Sleet stung her face and her ankle buckled from the effort, but she only ran harder. She slowed to a frantic jog only once the castle faded into the stormy haze. Her shoulders shook with sobs of pain, physical and mental. She had been so mistaken about her mother Her desperate need to have a mother figure back in her life blinded her from what Irina truly was: a heartless being who didn't deserve to live. Her father had been right all along. A heave cold settled in her bones, a stark contrast to the burning pain in her heart.  
  
She stumbled onto the gravel path the car followed to the castle. She kicked a rock into the mud. She had no where to go. She couldn't go back to the castle and confront Sark, she knew he'd kill her. The CIA had no idea where she was, she doubted they even knew what continent. Vaughn didn't need her as terribly as she needed him and she had no mother. Jack could be dead for all she knew. The winter storm raged around her, the temperature was dropping every moment she stood on the road doing nothing. She looked down the road. In the distance she could see the jagged cliffs by the water, like fingers trying in vain to hold the water back. She could vaguely make out a dark shadow on the horizon. She smiled in spite of it all. Perhaps luck was still on her side.  
  
Hurriedly, she leaned down, tucking her damp hair out of her face. She felt her ankle, relieved the swelling was going down. She knew it would worsen from running on it, but still, it was improving, Standing slowly, she glanced back at the castle one last time before jogging down the road. If she was lucky the plane would still be on the runway.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
"No Ben," Sark argued warily, anger flashing in his eyes. Sark distractedly rearranged the logs in the fireplace. Grabbing a sheet of old newspaper, he wadded it up and shoved it under the logs. He paused, saddened by the memory of his father teaching him how to build a fire, while his sisters laughed behind him when it wouldn't light.  
  
A small old women walked into the room , carrying a tray of tea. "You boys got that fire started yet? It's getting awfully cold in the blasted castle."  
  
"Working on it, Mel." Ben smiled warmly. Mel sat the tray down on a end table and left.  
  
Ben walked over and squatted down next to Sark. "It's not right, leaving her out there." Lighting another match, he tossed it into the small fire.  
  
I fail to see when that has ever stopped us in the past?" Sark's icy indifference was a stark contrast to Ben's emotional pleading.  
  
"Sark, she's the prophesy! You can't just let her get away, not yet. We don't understand anything, the rose, the page, none of it."  
  
"She wont get anywhere," Sark answered, "Not in this storm."  
  
He got up and crossed the large living room. The fire softy lit the dark red wallpaper and elaborately carved mahogany furniture. Shadows danced across Ben's anguished face as he watched Sark get a cup of tea. He sat in a chair across from Sark.  
  
"You've changed," Ben stated flatly, not as an accusation, just in acceptance.  
  
"I believe you have as well," Sark replied, his voice was calm but its tone warned Ben to tread lightly.  
  
"A normal life can do that to you," Ben laughed bitterly. Studying Sark he continued, "I should have expected you wouldn't be the same person I used to know so well, but still, when Irina contacted me to await your arrival here, I foolishly hoped it would be like old times."  
  
"Those days are gone Ben. I was foolish back then, full of a vengeance and anger that did nothing but hold me back."  
  
"But you say you've changed for the better?" Ben questioned, grinning slightly.  
  
"Yes," Sark answered coolly, remembering how great at mind games Ben was.  
  
"And yet you behaved like that in front of Ms. Bristow? The anger that you don't have anymore, managed to lose us a valuable asset." Ben concluded, triumph shining in his eyes.  
  
"A valuable asset Ben? I have more respect for Agent Bristow's skills as a spy then anyone but an asset?" Sark asked skeptically.  
  
"You're forgetting why you're held up in the god forsaken place to begin with. Irina trashed your reputation, and what better way to prove your loyalties then to have the CIA's strongest agent in your custody. Offer her as, shall we say, a token of good will." Ben looked up hopefully, "Well?"  
  
"I see your point but-"  
  
"And further more, the Sark I respected and admired, no matter how cunning and powerful he was, would never leave Agent Bristow stranded in this storm injured. It's not a fair fight. You can't convince me you've changed that much."  
  
"It's different now. I have nothing to lose. It's just me, alone."  
  
"You were never alone." Ben's eyes flashed dangerously. "I've heard the tales of the merciless Mr. Sark, but I don't believe them. Yes, you've followed orders, but I can see it in your face, your eyes, your hearts not in it. Your not just some assassin running around just for the love of the kill You have a good soul Sark, you've just forgotten ."  
  
Running his hands through his hair, Sark began to speak.  
  
"Don't tell me I'm wrong," Ben warned, his voice shaking slightly, " I sacrificed everything to help you. Everything! Don't tell me I did it for a man that became the very thing I was fighting." Ben stood up and wiped his eyes awkwardly, before walking out of the room.  
  
Sark leaned back into his chair. Ben's words left a coldness in him he couldn't warm. Memories he had tried hard to forget surfaced with a vengeance. He wanted desperately to forget the way things used to be, the way he used to be . He spent so many sleepless nights distorting and twisting his past into something that justified what he had become, but Ben unraveled all of it. There was no justification. And more, for the first time in such a long time, he realized someone had faith in him as a person, someone hadn't given up on him.  
  
He walked slowly out of the room and grabbed his coat. He followed the cold hall to Ben's room. He knocked lightly on the door. Ben opened it, his green eyes looked tired and old.  
  
"I never said you were wrong," Sark whispered, as he struggled to conceal the raw pain in his voice. "You coming then?"  
  
Ben shook his head.  
  
"You work so hard to convince me to get her and then aren't coming?" Sark asked, bewildered.  
  
"You'll be fine without me, I need to keep an eye on things here. I can't leave the artifacts for one. Hurry Sark, it's really getting bad out there." Ben ended, leaving no room for protest. He knew it wasn't his place to go save Syd, only Sark could do that.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Sydney stumbled towards the plane, a mixture of snow and sleet whirled around her, mixing with the icy ocean mist. Every part of her body was freezing and she was beginning to shiver. She could see the plane in the distance, like a beacon of hope. She was getting closer. Finally she reached it, as cold and miserable as when she found it in LA. She rattled the handle but it wouldn't open. She went to the side and tried to open the back, but it to was locked as well. She looked around for a branch or large rock to break the window with but she found none. Finally she grabbed a small rock from the ground and hurled it into the window. The rock collided with the window but it didn't break. Thousands of cracks filled the window, but when she pushed on it, the glass wouldn't give. She slammed the rock into it, but between the size of the rock and her exhaustion, she couldn't break the sturdy glass.  
  
Desperate to escape the cold and the storm, she ran around the airplane trying to find shelter from the wind. The way the plane was positioned on the field, the wind came at her from all directions. There was no shelter to be found. Pulling the shreds of her shirt around her tightly, she went towards the cliffs in hopes of finding shelter there. The grass faded into gravel and eventually the cliffs. They were dangerously slippery from the snow. Carefully she stepped onto them. She followed a crevice downward, all the while weary of the ocean, a long drop below. She made her way to a small overhang in the steep cracks between the boulders. She found a small amount of shelter from the wind and snow in a small dugout beneath the overhang. She curled up tightly to stay warm and waited for the night to come.  
  
Sark's car sped along the slippery road to the airplane. Rapping his coat around him tightly, he approached the airplane. One window was shattered but, as he expected, it wasn't broken. Good to know the bullet proof glass worked, he thought grimly. "Sydney!" He yelled, still amazed Ben had convinced him to come out here to rescue the enemy.  
  
She faintly heard a voice but wrote it off as the wind. She shivered, wishing she still had Sark's jacket. Nothing seemed to matter now. The prophesy, all her anger and resentment towards her mother, it seemed so trivial now.  
  
Sark walked towards the ocean, looking for her. He was beginning to agree with Ben. It was freezing and the cold seemed to penetrate to his bones. "Sydney!"  
  
She defiantly heard a voice this time. She looked out of her small shelter but saw nothing. The fog and snow were getting so bad she couldn't see anything but the rocks and the waves breaking below her. She was beginning to imagine things, she worried.  
  
"Sydney!" He yelled, walking along the rocks. He had no idea why she would be at the cliffs but if she was desperate enough, she could find shelter there. He knew the old hide outs from when he was young and used them to hide from his sisters. "Sydney!" he yelled again. "Sydney!"  
  
She sat up at the sound of her name and looked quickly around the rocks but couldn't see anything. Past the shelter, all she could see was the steep rocky slope dropping off into the ocean below it. She curled back up in the corner of the shelter and listened to her name being called over and over. She was losing it from the cold faster then she thought.  
  
Sark stumbled on the rocks, they were now slippery with snow and the puddles from the rain earlier were freezing over. Almost on his hand and knees he crept towards the largest hideout in the rocks. "Sydney!"  
  
There was defiantly a British accent calling her name. It couldn't be Sark though. She heard her name again, louder this time. "Sark?" She yelled, looking around in the haze.  
  
She could see him, a dark figure moving awkwardly across the rocks. Why did he come for her when he sent her away? It didn't matter why, he held the promise of shelter and warmth, even the cold cell was better than this wintry hell. "Sark!" She yelled desperately.  
  
He heard her. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He watched her crawl out awkwardly from the shelter. He stumbled carefully forward towards her. He looked down past the shelter. A steep drop off was next to it. Slowly he went over the rocks to her. "Sydney!" he yelled.  
  
She never thought she would be so happy to see Sark. His eyes blazed blue with uncertain emotion. He met her in front of the shelter. He stood there calmly but she held onto the rocks, not trusting the loose gravel she stood on. One false step and she knew she'd be over the edge.  
  
Her mind raced with a million scenarios explaining his presence. None of them ended well. "Why are you here?" She asked, her brown eyes weary and full of fear as she looked at the ledge only a few feet away.  
  
He shook his head. "Not now. Let's go, I'll follow you out."  
  
She gingerly stepped on her ankle, hoping it was still holding up. She grimaced but began to half walk, half crawl, across the cliffs. Sark began to follow her. Before he realized what happened, he stepped on a lose rock and the gravel started sliding off the edge, taking him with it. He desperately tried to hold onto the rocks around him, but everything was falling. The crashing of the waves was a dull roar in his ears as he slid towards the edge. "Sydney!" he yelled hoarsely, clutching at the rolling gravel.  
  
She came back cautiously as soon as she heard the rocks falling. Sark was sliding over the edge. She got as close as she could to him without making the rock slide worse. She could barely see anything, the wind and snow were blowing so fiercely. "Hold on!" She reached for him but he was too far down. His feet were already over the edge. She reached again, bracing herself against the shelter. She grabbed his cold hand tightly and began pulling him back. He looked back at her, his eyes full of fear and helplessness. She screamed in horror as a large rock broke lose and collided into Sark's head. His hand went limp in hers. She pulled him up to safety, cradling his head in her lap. Blood already covered the wounded side of his face. She wiped it out of his eyes. "Don't be dead," she pleaded, she couldn't handle the thought of being responsible for yet another death in her life. His body lay limp on the ground, his head was a dead weight in her lap.  
  
Sydney gently felt Sark's neck. A weak pulse was still there. Adrenaline rushing through her veins, she lifted him out of her lap and stood up, slowly made her way off the cliffs. His black car stood waiting by the plane. She put him down next to the car and opened the door. She pulled him in, smearing blood and melting snow across the expensive leather.  
  
She drove recklessly back to the castle, nearly skidding out of control twice. She jumped out of car in front of the castle. "Ben! Ben!" She yelled frantically, pulling Sark into her arms. Ben came running to her, and grabbed Sark from Sydney. "What happened to him?" Ben yelled.  
  
"He slipped and a rock.." Syd stuttered, shivering uncontrollably. Mel met them at the door and wrapped blankets around them. "My god, I knew it would come to this." she muttered, guiding Sydney to her room. "Come dear, lets get some dry clothes on you."  
  
Sydney entered her room in a daze. Mel started a warm bath for her and laid out warm clothes for her. "Warm up and get some rest, dear." She smiled sweetly before hurrying down the hall to help Sark. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It was still dark when she woke up in navy sweat pants and a warm thermal shirt. A soft cast had been put on her ankle. She barely remembered how she ended up in the bed. Scenes from earlier that night came flashing back. The storm, the cliffs, Sark barely alive, laying in her arms. Slowly, she slid from the warmth of the blankets. Heart pounding, she left her room, knowing what she had to do. The castle was quiet around her. Silently, she walked down the dark hall to where she figured Sark was sleeping. Reluctantly, she approached the nightmarish room where she saw the Rambaldi artifacts and heard the prophesy. Ben was asleep in a chair outside the room and the old women, she vaguely recalled as Mel, was no where to be seen. She opened the heavy wood door, and gasped.  
  
Sark lay motionless on the bed. His face was bruised and a large gauze bandage covered the gash from the rock. Small bruises covered his arm that wasn't hidden beneath the sheets. Someone had started a morphine drip. He truly looked dead, she thought grimly. There was no color in his face and his breathing was shallow. His hair was tangled around his head.  
  
The destruction in the room, that so vividly showed the pain the demolisher must have felt, was cleaned up slightly. Order had been restored with the furniture. A small chest sat beneath a window and a dresser was against the opposing wall. The wooden Rambaldi box she glimpsed earlier was put away, but a mysterious flower was rapped in a cloth on top of the chest. She walked over to it. How odd for a rose to be alive in winter. Even in the dark room, she could tell it's petals were blood red and the stem was the purest of greens. She reached to touch it but stopped, midair. She felt a sense of foreboding surrounding the flower, as well as a reverence she didn't want to disturb. She backed away.  
  
There was a small pile of papers sitting on the dresser. Not yet ready to face the body laying on the bed, she continued to creep around the room , following her instincts. She shifted through the papers. Three crumbled pictures fell out. Sark was dressed in a cross between a cowboy from a John Wayne movie and Davey Crocket. His sister stood beside him, blue eyes twinkling. Another picture was of him and his sisters. The third was ripped in half, the long torso and legs of a man was all that was left. She closed her eyes, clutching the pictures. The images of Sark as anything but a cold blood killer unnerved her. It threatened to destroy the image of Sark she had. The pictures were bringing up other sides of him she didn't want to face, to factor into her definition of Sark.  
  
She jumped when Sark shifted in the bed. What was she doing? He was the enemy, she should be upset he didn't die. He was saving you, a small voice answered. She walked quietly to the edge of his bed. She sat on the side cautiously watching him. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached forward and took his hand in hers. It was so cold. She stood up to get another blanket. He shifted as soon as she let go and moaned softly. She grabbed a blanket off his dresser and covered him with it. She went to the table next to his bed and grabbed a new pad of gauze. Carefully she took off the medical tape and the pad. Her stomach lurched. A larch gash was above his ear, the side of his head was puffy and bruised. She smoothed his hair away from the wound. He looked so fragile. She gently taped the new pad of gauze over the gash. Looking back at the door, she walked back to the side of his bed and sat back down, reaching for his hand immediately. "Hold on Sark," she whispered, squeezing his hand.  
  
Ben walked in quietly and smiled in spite of the fact that Sark was barely hanging on. Sydney was sound asleep on the bed, holding Sark's hand in her own. He tapped her shoulder slightly. She stood up quickly, embarrassed.  
  
"You're fine." Ben smiled. "I just wondered if you needed anything."  
  
"Coffee would be great," she smiled.  
  
"Exactly what I was on my way to get for myself. Care to come down to the kitchen with me? I don't want to wake Mel She's had a long night."  
  
She smiled and followed Ben out of the room.  
  
The kitchen was surprisingly small. It was dark yet cozy in the dim light. Smells of delicious foods wafted around them. It was fairly modern though. It had dark granite counters and a stainless steel appliances.  
  
They sat at the counter, waiting for the coffee to be done.  
  
"So what's your story? You don't look like you belong in the business." Sydney asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence between them. "How do you know Sark anyway?"  
  
"His dad and my dad were...business partners."  
  
"Really?" She asked, getting up to grab the pot of coffee. "With what?"  
  
"Oh, illegal arms trading, blackmail, the works," Ben laughed, "top shelf," he added.  
  
"Thanks." She reached up and grabbed two coffee cups and brought them back to the counter.  
  
"So how is it you guys ended up together, and in France?"  
  
"My father died in plane crash when I was ten. Sark's family took me in. We left England, and moved here. It was closer to Sark's father's business. His mother was a good person. She gave up everything for Sark's father," he added sadly.  
  
"What happened to his family? I saw the pictures in his room. They were beautiful children." And why the hell was a picture of a man ripped up?  
  
"It's not my story to tell, Ms. Bristow. Just remember, circumstance can make a person become something they are not. People change but their hearts don't. I truly believe Sark has a good heart."  
  
Sydney sat her empty cup in the sink. "And you may be the only one, Ben. Thanks for the coffee."  
  
"He saved your life Ms. Bristow," Ben added. Sydney was half way down the hall when he said that, but he saw her slow a bit before walking briskly back down the hall. 


End file.
